To Ruin the Duke

379 Pages·2009·1.16 MB·English

by  Debra Mullins

To Esi Sogah,
who gave me chances
when I really needed them.
Your belief in me
nmade this bomok possible.
Contents
Prologue
The tiny attic room stank of sweat and blood. The… 1
Chapter 1
He had carried Michael out of many a tavern, but… 8
Chapter 2
Miranda stood on the doorstep of Matherton House, her eyes… 25
Chapter 3
Mrs. Weatherby’s Thursday night salon was the only thing that
kept… 41
Chapter 4
The fire burned low in the grate, infusing the dimly… 62
Chapter 5
Mr. Everton Wallace did not have the look of a lawman… 75
Chapter 6
Miranda climbed down from the hired hack, still
simmering about… 93
Chapter 7
Mrs. Cooper had arrived and left again after feeding James his… 113
Chapter 8
When Miranda came downstairs, Wyldehaven’s servants
bustled through the floors… 133
Chapter 9
Why the devil were women so contrary? 149
Chapter 10
After breakfast, Wylde summoned his gleaming black coach
with the… 170
Chapter 11
By afternoon Miranda had decided two things. 193
Chapter 12
Wylde arrived at the dower house precisely at eleven o’clock… 214
Chapter 13
Wyldehaven thumped on the door of Miranda’s home with his… 235
Chapter 14
The Oakley musicales had become something of a
tradition over… 249
Chapter 15
Her innocent kiss sparked an inferno. 266
Chapter 16
He removed her clothing with a skill that left her… 284
Chapter 17
“Wylde!” 297
Chapter 18
“What do you mean the duke is not at home?” 314
Chapter 19
It was a stunned group that adjourned to Wyldehaven’s house… 333
Chapter 20
When Miranda arrived at Rothgard’s town house, she had not… 352
About the Author
Other Books by Debra Mullins
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
nm
T
he tiny attic room stank of sweat and blood.
The midwife had opened the door to ease the
stifling heat, but the ensuing draft barely made
the flame on the single stubby candle flicker. The
mewling and fidgeting of the newborn babe in the
midwife’s arms broke the heavy silence and added
burden to the grief that weighed on them all.
By the doorway of the closet-sized chamber,
the vicar waited and watched, as patient as death.
Miranda tried not to look at him, tried not to be
reminded that Lettie would not live to see the
sunrise.
She sat on the floor beside the pallet under the
eaves, holding Lettie’s limp hand in her own. Her
friend looked so pale, so weak. Not at all like the
vibrant, brilliant Lettie who had returned from
London only months before, bursting with health
and expectations for her unborn child. Oh, the plans
she had spoken of, the grand schemes for raising her
1
DEBRA MULLINS
baby and seeing that he or she took his or her right-
ful place in society.
Gone now. They would never come to pass.
Miranda swallowed past the lump in her throat,
then leaned closer as Lettie slowly turned her head
on the pillow. Her blue eyes, always so stunning,
no longer sparkled with life. The roses had gone
from her cheeks, leaving them waxen. Her lovely
blond hair was dark with sweat and clung to her
scalp.
Lettie’s fingers fluttered in Miranda’s, and she
opened her mouth, but no sound came forth.
“Hush now.” Miranda swept a hand over Let-
tie’s damp brow and tried to summon a reassuring
smile. “You need to rest.”
Lettie gave a knowing chuckle, half laugh and
half sob. Her voice came finally, thready and frail.
“Liar. I am dying, Miranda.”
“No.” Panic streaked through her veins. To speak
of death so easily—that made it all the more real.
There had been too much loss in Miranda’s life al-
ready. She could not accept more. Would not. “You
must get better, raise your son.”
“A son.” Lettie’s lips curved ever so slightly.
“Wylde would have liked that.”
“Shhh.” Miranda brought her friend’s hand to
her cheek. So cold. Already Lettie’s flesh took on
the aspect of death. She struggled for the strength
to maintain her composure. Falling to pieces would
2
TO RUIN THE DUKE
not help Lettie. “Do not speak of that man. He does
not deserve a single thought from you.”
Lettie curled her fingers around Miranda’s. “You
must take care of my son.”
“Nonsense. You will be here to see that he grows
up properly.”
“Miranda.” Lettie’s voice strengthened, and just
for a moment she seemed to be her old self, all con-
fidence and dazzling ideas. “Listen now.” The stern-
ness faded from her tone, and she took a shaky
breath. “I am dying. I can feel the life slipping away
from me.”
“No.” Miranda shook her head in vehement
denial. “I cannot lose you, Lettie.”
“Be practical.” Lettie’s voice faded to a whisper.
“Take care of my son, Miranda. Take care of my
James.”
“James.” Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked
them back. “A lovely name.”
Lettie’s eyelids drifted shut. “My father’s name.”
Lettie’s fingers weakened their clasp, and Miranda
bit hard into her lower lip, holding back the sob that
threatened to choke her. Lettie was fading before
her eyes. In a moment she would be gone.
Just like everyone else.
Miranda bowed her head over their clasped
hands and let the tears fall at last, streaming down
her cheeks in silent tribute to her friend.
Lettie’s fingers tightened again. “Mira.”
3
DEBRA MULLINS
Miranda jerked her head up, met Lettie’s gaze.
The nickname nearly tore away the last of her self-
control. “Lettie. I thought—”
“Soon.” Her lips curved again. “So impatient,
Mira. Even rushing me to the grave.”
“I am not, of course I am not! I do not want you
to go, Lettie.” The sob finally burst from her throat,
smashing the dam of her restraint. Grief flooded
through her, stealing the strength from her limbs.
“Whatever shall I do without you?”
“You will take care of my son.” Lettie’s gaze never
wavered. “Make certain he gets what he deserves. A
place in society with his father. Swear to me.”
“Yes, yes, I swear.” Miranda nodded, willing to
promise anything, do anything.
“You will go to London. Collect the dowry your
mother left for you with Thaddeus.”
“I will.”
“Use it well. Make a life for yourself.”
“Yes, Lettie.”
“I can count on you to do what is right, my dear
Mira.” Lettie smiled again, and her lips were still
curved when she closed her eyes and breathed her
last.
Miranda sat frozen by her bedside. She waited for
Lettie to open her eyes again, to laugh at the joke.
But Lettie remained silent and peaceful in her death,
and the fingers Miranda continued to hold grew
lax.
4
TO RUIN THE DUKE
She heard a rustle of clothing and then the vicar
was beside her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “She
is gone.”
“No.” The sound was more croak than word.
Miranda clasped Lettie’s hand tighter. “She cannot
be gone. Not so quickly.”
“She is at peace.” He took Lettie’s hand from
Miranda’s and laid it gently across the still body of
the deceased. “I am sorry. You must let me see to
her now.”
Miranda nodded, her shoulders slumped, watch-
ing as the vicar bent his head and prayed. For a
moment it felt as if she again sat at the bedside of her
mother, gone just over a year ago now. She supposed
she should feel comfort from the familiar rituals of
death, but the truth was, she hated them. How was
it she always lost the people she loved?
She had never known her father. He had gotten
her mother with child and then, upon hearing the
news of her condition, dismissed her with a healthy
financial settlement. Her mother, once the great ac-
tress Fannie Fontaine, had lived the rest of her life
in obscurity, and once the money ran out, had no
choice but to eventually become a prostitute at the
tavern where Miranda still lived—until the drink
finally killed her.
Lettie had also worked at the tavern, but as a
barmaid, not a whore. Before her death, Fannie had
seen potential in the girl and sent her to her friend
5